Ragdoll
by something someone said
Summary: AU.  Alois is one of Mr. Trancy's rent boys, the best at what he does, until a certain customer changes all of that.  Claude x Alois.  Dark.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.

A/N: Though this is more like an Alternate Reality than an Alternate Universe fic, some of the character's roles have been changed. The era and the setting are still Victorian London, however. Rated for non-explicit sexual situations, profanity and general dark themes.

* * *

He knew Luca was dead. Mr. Trancy had stopped pretending to read Luca's letters, not just because he lost interest in his own lie, but because by that time Alois would have figured out that Luca would be illiterate anyway. His parents were probably dead too. Or they were too poor to make the journey to the city, or maybe they didn't give a damn anyway.

Maybe Alois didn't give a damn either. Or he wouldn't have. But Mr. Trancy would always keep a portion of his earnings, the portion that should have been his, and say 'For Luca' as he pocketed the coins. He even used to add 'You know your brother's very sick right? That's why your parents sent you to work here, with me,' but had abandoned the allegory in favor of a more timely motion. 'For Luca' was just enough. 'For Luca' and the money he had earned was in another man's hand just like so many parts of him had been that night. 'For Luca' was what Alois said to himself when all the grunts gave way to whimpers and he found himself reeling in a world of powdered truths and even flimsier lies.

For the dead boy. For nothing.

By all the knowing clients, Alois was one of Mr. Trancy's rentboys. 'The blonde, one, I'll have the blonde one,' they'd say and he'd lift himself from the sofa, or the divan, and stand by Mr. Trancy, who'd dig his nails into his shoulder, as if to say 'this is mine. You can have it for a night, but this is mine.' And Alois would stare at his client and gauge the pleasure he'd take in and the pleasure he'd have to give, dependent on the pain he'd have to take and the pain he would give in return. Most men didn't notice the pain, but one had. He'd been a doctor and sat down and wept on the edge of the bed once it was over. 'You're just a child damn it. You're no older than my son.' And Alois placed a hand on his thigh and said, 'You paid for another round. Ready to go again?' And just when the doctor had buried himself in, half-flaccid and itching to be done with the whole thing Alois had said, 'if you picture me as your son you'll get done faster.' It worked.

If there was a thing that he was good at it was his job. It was a source of pride for him when a fellow rent boy would come back with a client, shamed look on both their faces, and the client would ask for someone better or he was reporting them to the police. 'You!' It was always him who was pointed to. And Alois would do his job, and well, and the newer boys would stare at him with cruel eyes. An older boy would laugh at them. 'They don't know. The law is sleeping with us too.' And Alois would smile to himself, and know deep down that there was no law. No Luca. No anything. Just his job, and he was good at it.

But being good in his line of work meant he was a penny above the rest of the whores, but a whore all the same.

"I've got a job for you," Mr. Trancy sat in his chair. The red one stained with ashes. It was past their busy hours, probably early in the morning. Most of the other boys were sleeping upstairs, but Alois had stayed down. He liked to sit in the main room, the room that had the guise of opulence because it was kept so dark that you couldn't see the stains on the rug or the rips in the sofas.

"What kind of job?"

"Entertaining a very important client."

Alois frowned. He didn't like vague answers. Vague answers only led to more questions and in the end and Alois had just stopped asking questions.

"How important?"

"You'll like this," the old man chuckled, though it could have easily been a cough, "He's a cut above the rest. Just like you."

He didn't take the compliment. He wasn't sure how to. "So an official then?"

"Better."

"A priest? I could have sworn I had one last week." The guy who had started rehashing sermons in the middle of it. Alois had felt special when the man called him the spawn of Satan.

"No, damn you, a nobleman." He coughed again, this time a real cough.

Alois gave a high pitched and derisive laugh. "That's all?" He stretched his legs out, his feet capriciously close to the fire. He made a game of poking his toes in and out of the range of comfortable heat and searing inferno. "I'm not surprised," he said blandly.

"You'll be escorted to his house tomorrow evening. Make sure you aren't seen."

Comfortable. Searing. "I will."

"And give him any request he asks for."

Comfortable. Searing. "I will."

"For Luca."

Searing. Searing.

"His name's Lord Faustus. Practice your manners." The old man's voice was hoarse.

Alois curled his legs underneath himself once more. "I will." There was nothing to practice. He had never learned any.

* * *

The next morning Alois told the other rent boys about his prospective client. He liked to see the way jealousy would run in their eyes. Just a flash, but it would hold him over longer than the meal would.

They breakfasted on a bench in the kitchen. It was always cramped and his elbows rubbed against the other boys as he shoved food into his mouth.

"It'll probably be a gross old man." He had laughed as he said it, but inside he felt a curling disgust. The other boys laughed with him. Some so loud they didn't hear him mutter in a cold, dark voice, "Lord Faustus, what a hideous sounding name."

He ate more of the food, an acrid taste blooming in his mouth.

The more he said the name Lord Faustus the more he saw a fat and gross old man. "Lord Faustus." He visualized Mr. Trancy, but more fat and putrid. "Lord Faustus." Hands like the blood sausages that they were fed during holidays. "Lord Faustus." Or maybe not fat at all. Perhaps skinny. So skinny he'd see the man's ribs and sallow skin sagging, engulfing him. "Lord Fau-"

"Shut up!" The boy next to him pushed. "We've heard his name enough already."

He righted himself and continued to eat, feeling a pain in his mouth. At some point he had bit his tongue and now his blood dribbled from his mouth and speckled his food red. The splatters reminded him of something that didn't want to be remembered.

* * *

The carriage arrived just as the evening rush was starting to begin. Most of the other boys were sitting on the laps of gentlemen or else entertaining their clients in separate rooms. Mr. Trancy was talking with someone, probably one of London's deviant elite when he told Alois to follow the man who was standing at the entrance. "And remember your manners."

"I will." Neither curt nor haughty.

Alois was glad to be out of the room. The cigarette smog was worse than usual and he was bored as hell with waiting.

The coachman said nothing as he led him to the carriage. The inside was dark and he almost wanted to turn back and beg for some other boy to go, though he knew it would do no good. The door was shut behind him and he was plunged into near darkness. He shuddered.

No one else was in the carriage. He had expected as much. It wouldn't do for a nobleman to pick up a rent boy in person. This carriage was probably not his main one either, probably something rented for the night. Something very much like himself.

Alois rocked back and forth in his seat anxiously, conscious of the bumps in the road. He had only rode in a carriage a few times in his life.

The first time was when his parents were sending him off to London. He had thought it would be for school.

His parents hated him. They must have. They had forbidden him to see his brother, sick in a partitioned corner of their house. They would not even let him talk through the cloth to him.

That carriage had brought him to London, sure enough, but it had arrived on the doorstep of Mr. Trancy's business and Alois had learned quickly.

* * *

The carriage stopped and the door was opened. Alois stepped out and was greeted by a handsome townhouse. Not even his most affluent clients had lived on this side of town. Alois sucked in the air, cold and clear and clean.

The coachman led him quickly through the gate and through a garden of lavender. Little spears sticking up from their bushy undergrowth. He'd seen some customers wear it in their buttonholes and laughed at the symbolism like it was a bad joke. He was led to an unadorned door at the side of the house. A servant's entrance. It seemed appropriate. He followed the coachman in.

There was something about this house. Alois had walked into many and they had always had a character that he gleaned from the nicks in the wallpaper or the meaningless trinkets on the shelves. This house had none of that. The frescoes seemed hallow and the portraits that hung on the walls stared at him with blank and lifeless expressions. Even the rugs he walked on were reticent in their muted patterns. There was something in this house that didn't want to talk about itself.

But that was fine with Alois. He didn't feel like asking. He never felt like asking.

The hallway led to a large sitting room and Alois was motioned to sit down. He chose a chair, elegant but forgettable, and waited. Just waited. He wondered how old the noble would be, if he'd request something normal or more bizarre and if he'd need to build up his appetite for an especially gluttonous client.

He had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed the man standing in the doorway. By the looks of it this man was another servant, glasses and finely tailored suit.

"So you'll be the one that'll lead me to the Lord's chambers, won't you?"

He had the fleeting notion that all the servants in the house didn't talk, until he heard, "That is correct." A smooth voice, like breaking into the honey jar. The man turned to go and when Alois didn't stand up right away he added, "Follow."

Alois slipped off the chair and followed the man. He was led to an upstairs room, spacious though inconspicuous.

The servant shut the door behind him. "Strip," he said, honey dripping.

Alois proceeded in a hasty fashion. The lord liked his servants to inspect the merchandise, did he? He had seen it all before. His doctor-client had checked him for diseases before starting. Adequate was all the doctor had said of him. And adequate was far more than Alois had expected.

But once he was bare the servant did not leave. He merely stared, a smile curving. Alois decided that he hated that smile. It disgusted him more than any smile ever did.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" His patience with such servants always grew thin.

Then the servant moved closer, closer, deathly close and Alois realized that this man was not a servant.

"Lord Faust-" He collapsed on the bed under the weight of the other man. Hands moved everywhere, far too fast to feel anything. Fingers pressed without warning. And as his thoughts swam and muddled he felt it inside him, some foreign thing, intrusive and swelling. Something he did not want, though he didn't know why he did not want it.

Like so many other jobs Alois tried to sink to the bottom, to watch the world pass over him impassively. But he could not sink into his consciousness. Each movement of the other man brought him back to the surface, breathing hard and choking and each touch was hard and raw and unfeeling. And that thing inside him, all the time, was filling him, breaking its way through, until all he was aware of was the pain in his body and the smile on Lord Faustus's face. Something wet rolled down his cheek and he realized he was crying. Lord Faustus saw everything inside of him, shame and secrets, and observed indifferently, as if he was gutting an animal.

Alois sobbed. He wanted to tear away but there was nowhere to go. He closed his eyes but he still saw that smile. Even his most brutal clients were not as detached. Even when they'd claw at his skin, close to ripping it, he saw in them the thing that made them human, so very weak and pathetic. But Lord Faustus's eyes had none of that, like the flames of a fire they were dangerous and consuming but without depth. Alois wanted to run into the arms of someone and cry at what he was in the arms of this man, something inferior, something only to be used and thrown away, but there was no one to cry to, so he cried to himself.

And then it stopped. Lord Faustus removed himself from his body and Alois rolled over, shaking. His tears wet the bed cover as he buried into it. Inside that warm, damp place there was only him.

* * *

The maid woke him. He had been curled in the covers for hours, shaking and twisting in his sleep. Wild nightmares flitted across his mind, returning to the darkness of their own obscurity in the flashes he opened his eyes, half-awake but unaware of what world he was in.

Then the woman came and he knew he wasn't dreaming anymore.

Alois did not talk to many women. He frowned at her. She was all curves and sympathy, from a world that Alois did not know or believe in anymore.

She helped him put his clothes back on until he slapped her hands away. He didn't want anyone to touch him. He was guided by her to the same door he had come in. Lord Faustus was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he too had faded into the darkness of his expressionless house.

The coachman was waiting for them there, though Alois thought there was something slightly off with him. He wasn't quite the same, but at that moment neither was Alois.

In the carriage he doubted the lord would call for him again. Mr. Trancy would be furious at the loss of such a rich customer, but that only meant he'd return to the lap of some dreary middle-aged man with halitosis and a love for rhetoric.

But something told Alois, something deep inside that he had stopped talking to, that Lord Faustus had ruined him.

* * *

Alois hated being Jim Macken.

Jim was the outcast in the little village. Nobody liked Jim. Nobody played with him, except for Luca before he got sick. Alois remembered. Jim had thought the roof was leaking, something wet dripping on his cheek. Luca was coughing, the fit making the bed they shared shake. "Go back to sleep." He tried to nudge his brother, but the coughing kept going. "Hey," he said, waking fully. His brother was crumpled on his side and he realized it wasn't raining. Jim wiped his face and his hand came back splattered in red.

Everyone wanted Alois. Because Alois was pure and Jim was dirty. Alois could be someone new every night for every customer, but Jim could only be hated and hateful. Alois was alive and Jim was dead.

But Alois did not doubt that Jim was there in the carriage with him, shaking. Faustus was not like his other customers, and it chilled Alois - and Jim - to think that he was any different from the many men he had been with. Faustus hadn't touched him or fucked him. Faustus had devoured him.

* * *

Mr. Trancy didn't ask, he only collected his money and went back to bartering with his clients. Alois walked through the room as if in a blur. Someone tried to grab hold of his sleeve but he brushed it off. Everything about it disgusted him. He couldn't distinguish one conversation from the next, all of them blending together in a chaos that bled and whirled and twisted around him.

He finally found a spot upstairs, a small corner in a dark, dark room. He slept, his sleep heavy and empty.

Someone kicked him and Alois, in the veil of sleep, made out the words, "You're to go to Lord Faustus's again tomorrow."

Alois tried to go to sleep again, but his mind would not slow down.

He saw scenes from his past. His father beating him for calling all the boys pigs at school. Villagers avoiding him because they did not like his eyes. They were too superstitious, those peasant villagers. His mother shooing him away from the partition where his brother slept. And all around he heard that name 'Jim', 'go away Jim', 'damn you Jim', and he didn't like it.

He crept down the stairs and found Mr. Trancy in his usual place by the waning fire, the room devoid of life except for an old, old man and young boy. A mock reproduction of the previous night. This time Mr. Trancy did not speak right away.

Alois had heard from the other boys, vicious rumors that swept around the brothel like the pox, that Mr. Trancy had had a son named Alois once. Alois had taken that name for himself and Mr. Trancy had not seemed to mind.

Mr. Trancy had married rich, he had heard. His wife had been an heiress and their son would have inherited it. But the other Alois had died and his wife and her riches had followed suit, given to another heir. Alois hadn't asked if that was the reason Mr. Trancy sat by the fire in the early morning hours, staring into it but not seeing anything, or if it was the reason he had the boys wear a long flowing robe when he wanted to test them out, fingers pulling desperately at the robe belt like unwrapping a present. Alois hadn't asked but he knew whatever Mr. Trancy had been before he wasn't now. Because it was the same for him, he wasn't Jim anymore.

"How was Lord Faustus?" The old man finally asked.

"He was quick and not fun at all." Something immense and hopeless rose in Alois's chest and he realized that the feeling had always been there: crawling inside of him every time a man looked at him and saw nothing but flesh, writhing when another boy would shove him in jealousy or negligence. But the worst was when he was alone in the dark and there was no one and he was no one and the world was nothing and that feeling swallowed him whole.

Alois frowned. "Not fun at all."

* * *

A/N: This is one of the few stories that I knew the first sentence of before I knew what the story would be about. It's also one of the few stories I outlined before hand. If you liked what you read then I'm happy you liked it, but this isn't really a story for everyone, so I can't blame you if you didn't. In any case, this story will most likely be relatively short and things between Alois and Claude will change.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. They surprised and encouraged me to say the least. Anyway, same warnings as before. Enjoy.

* * *

To Alois, the world was as beautiful as it was disgusting. The smell of the brothel was always thick with cigarettes and boys on the laps of men. He liked to dig his fingers into the throws, feeling softness and the memories of the night before, laughter and wine and caresses. He liked to hear the talk of the other boys, stories of men debauched, and offer up his own debauchery. He liked to look into their eyes until they turned away, embarrassed and surrending, when they knew they had lost and he had won.

But that world had narrowed down to the size of a gun barrel aimed at one man.

Lord Faustus. He said the name now in a groan, a whisper, a secret that only he could interpret.

But he did not want to think about him, or the night before. He regarded the man as an enigma. A sorcerer maybe, because he could only think of their encounter and its lingering effects in terms of peasant magic, petty and primitive. And that magic spell was still on him like sweat from the night before.

The world was now under a gauzy veil of indifference, insubstantial and insignificant. He was aware that all of his actions meant nothing, that he could not reciprocate the gestures from the other boys, could not even understand them. He ate without tasting and touched without feeling. Every conversation he found himself saying 'not fun at all,' as if it were a greeting, as common as hello, as weak as any of his goodbyes were.

He could only wait in that world for dark to settle in, when all the customers would come in, and Alois would be at odds with himself, because for the first time he did not want to touch any of them. He did not want to look any of them in the eyes and feel wanted in that one moment when they'd take him by the wrist and lead him up the stairs to the empty rooms above.

* * *

Alois sat by the fire. It was a warm night and most of the customers had already placed themselves away from it. Sparks of laughter filled the room as the wood crackled. Only a few boys had straggled by the fire, smoking the cigarettes their clients had given them. Alois heard their conversation, snippets of tobacco-filled whispers.

"I heard he won't be too young or too old."

"And who did you hear that from?"

"Mr. Trancy himself. Said he was getting a new one because we're getting too old. He only wants young ones."

"I heard from Mr. Trancy that he's from the country. Probably stupid as hell."

"I heard his parents died suddenly and he's coming tomorrow."

"There's enough of us here already. I don't see why the old man wants more."

"But he always wants more, doesn't he? Don't they all?" The boy snickered, smoke escaping from his mouth.

"If he takes any of my men I'll give him such a licking."

"What men do you have? You're the ugliest!"

"Am not."

"Liar."

"Shut up."

They pushed each other.

"Watch it."

Someone hit him in the arm. Alois hardly felt it.

"You're only jealous I get the nice ones."

The boys had attracted the attention of the other men. Alois heard cheers but did not look in their direction, his only focus the entrance.

"That's enough." He heard Mr. Trancy's voice roll thick on the shell of his ear. "Get back to work, all of you."

Alois did not move. He stared at the entrance, a shadowy place that revealed men of all natures.

"All I know is," the boy said, standing and extinguishing his cigarette on the carpet, "He better not steal anything from me."

The coachman emerged from the darkness of the doorway then and Alois walked quickly through the crowd. If they noticed him they did not show it, and he, for once, did not care if he was seen.

* * *

The ride was the same as it was before, the same bumps in the road that made the carriage lurch and Alois fumble in the dark. Locked in the darkness, he gave free reign to his thoughts. Flashes of everything slid by, like raindrops on a window. He saw a fiery sky, clouds fanned out towards the sun, probably a memory from childhood that he had kept. Had the sun been setting or rising? He could not remember, but, there had been reds and yellows and colors that Alois didn't know the names of at the time. Now he knew. Burgundy bedspreads and gold coins and crimson passions that always faded into black.

The carriage stopped and the coachman let him out. This time the servant reached for his hand when he exited the carriage and held the front door of the townhouse open for him. Had he trampled the garden too much on his first visit? He wanted to think that was the reason.

The maid was waiting for him in the entrance hall. Her arms carried a bundle of clothing, colors as deep as a sunset. "Lord Faustus requests that you bathe and then put these on." She said in the same voice that Alois had heard in the moment when he did not want to hear any voices.

He snatched the clothes from her and said nothing. The coachman led him to the bathroom, a simple tub of warm water. He looked at it curiously.

He had always laughed at the boys who scrubbed themselves furiously when it was bathing day, their skin turning pink. 'Wiping the filth off?' 'For what?' Alois would take his cloth and rub it hastily. Fast and flurried circles, the suds flying everywhere. He was always amazed when it came back only slightly sullied. He had imagined the cloth would turn black.

"So this is it? Do you think I'm really that dirty?" He smiled at the coachman, but the other did not give any sign of emotion so he quickly frowned.

"So he wants me to take a bath?" He said sharply this time. The coachman nodded and left the room.

Even standing close to it, Alois felt the warm water from the tub, vapor curling into ethereal forms. The heat made his skin tingle, his body gave itself up to the delight. It was better than most sex, bath time in a tub.

In the country, bath time was a bucket or an animal trough and water cold like the first snow. 'I'm not going in,' he'd tell his mother and his brother would repeat, 'I'm not going in.' And his mother would scrunch her brow and pick them both up and drop them in. Then she'd scrub them really hard and by that time he would get used to the water and decide it wasn't so bad after all. 'I'm not coming out,' he'd tell her when it was over. 'I'm not coming out,' his brother would agree.

He dropped himself in the warm tub, the water splashing over the sides. He took in the scent, the predictable fragrance of roses. He soaked in that scent, sloshed warm water around with his feet. He squeezed his toes, his feet and legs, feeling how strange the skin stuck to the bone.

He didn't want to think about Lord Faustus. But how foolish of his servants to leave him alone. He could easily slip out, grab something valuable and never be seen again. He'd go to France, to Spain maybe. But even with other men, their wallets hanging open heavy on the nightstand, he couldn't do it. There was no point in stealing, even from Mr. Trancy. There was nothing Alois really wanted.

But that desirelessness pained him more than an empty pocket could. It ached, but it was not the familiar ache he was used to, that void that was filled and pressed open with every object that encountered it. This ache came from somewhere inside, an emptiness hallowed out by every adoring mewl, every narrowed eye and meaningless embrace. Alois held his head under the water and only came up when his lungs were close to bursting. He choked out the water as he took a breath, water up his nose and in his eyes.

After regaining himself he rose out. He was done with it, 'I want to get out.' He looked back at the water and could only detect a faint murkiness that had not been there before, cloudy and insubstantial, like the milky way on a dark, dark night.

"I'm really that dirty," he repeated to no one.

He was left to put his clothes on by himself, rich fabrics that were like stroking a second, luxurious skin. He wondered why they had wasted such clothing on him. All the more time it would take to get them off of him, but maybe that was why. He looped the buttons, a motion that was as familiar to him as unlooping them. He pulled up the shorts and the stockings, comfortable materials that he didn't know what to call.

He was unsure of the ribbon however. He tied it around his neck in a quick knot and it drooped down unflatteringly.

"Fine," he said to it.

* * *

He was led down to the dining room by the coachman again, who was probably other things besides a coachman. He faced a large dining table with two place settings on it. Unremarkable china and silverware adorned it.

At that moment Lord Faustus entered and Alois froze. Fear rushed him, sending a heat wave to his head. The other man observed him and Alois tried to turn away from his gaze.

"Something's wrong." The lord said. His yellow eyes looked down at Alois, boring a hole into his skull. He walked closer and Alois's heart beat furiously.

Lord Faustus put his hands around Alois's neck and he closed his eyes. The searing pain from the previous evening came back to him, rising from depths immutable. He wanted to run, to melt through his skin, to be away. The grip tightened.

He felt the ribbon tighten around his neck. "Better." Lord Faustus said. He let go of both ends and Alois opened his eyes again. The ribbon made a perfect bow on his neck.

Lord Faustus had made his way to the other side of the table and motioned for Alois to do the same. They seated themselves in tandem and just as quickly a meal was placed in front of him. Alois grabbed the food without thinking. He had learned that food on a table did not stay that way in a house full of other boys. Alois slowly chewed his food, the flavors becoming apparent. Rich and savory meats that he had never tasted, starches as sweet as candy. He wanted to think that he had eaten these foods when he was younger. Much younger, sitting on his mother's lap as she fed him, as she told him to eat all of it so he could be strong. But his mother had never done that.

He heard a snicker and looked in the direction of his host.

"Hungry?"

He could feel the way the Lord Faustus watched him and he didn't care. Perhaps he was the gluttonous client that Alois imagined, getting off from watching him eat. He hadn't even touched his food, Alois noticed.

Regardless, he continued to rip at the meat, chewing on cartilage, fat dripping down his chin. He was hungrier than he had ever been. He heard Lord Faustus say something but the words became a jumbled mess in his brain.

"What?"

"Claude. Call me Claude." His voice was good-humored, unnaturally so.

He nodded.

Claude smiled. "Isn't your name Jim Macken?"

Alois shook his head.

"I will not force you to say it. Just call me Claude from now on." Alois expected him to but he didn't pick up his silverware and start to eat with him.

Alois was already full by that point anyway. His plate scattered by half-eaten remnants.

"So what do you want?" Alois asked frankly. "Are we doing it on this table now?"

Claude brought his hand to Alois's cheek and wiped his finger on it. Then he brought it to his mouth and tasted.

"Better." He smiled.

* * *

Claude led him through the house, talking about various artifacts. It was always a few words, as if he were just remembering something about a certain piece, and then, just as easily, forgetting about it. And Alois too, found himself forgetting about the objects as soon as he passed them. Some of his customers liked to show off, Alois knew. They liked to feel that they were the cream in the bucket on shit-strewn hay. But Alois had figured out that Claude wasn't like any of his customers.

They walked up the stairs and Alois laid his hand on the banister and felt the smooth wood.

"What do you want?" He asked again.

"What do _you_ want?" Claude mimicked, stopping on the stair ahead of him.

"I... I don't know. I asked you."

Claude leaned in. "Tell me when you know."

"There's no reason to." He looked away.

Claude smiled, the same smile from the night before: cruel and crude and snide and warm.

"There's a fairy in this house who grants wishes," he whispered. "And if you're lucky your wish will be granted too."

It might have been Alois's turn to laugh, but he didn't. He stared at the man called Claude, who had ravaged and consumed and destroyed him and felt his heart beat again.

They walked down a long corridor and Alois watched his shadow move across the wall. The same eery feeling encapsulated him as before: the house was full of whispers that weren't meant to be heard. They stopped and Claude opened a pair of French doors.

"Go in." He said. It wasn't a command but Alois was a long way from refusing.

He walked into the room and had the sensation that he was stepping into a painting. The floor was tiled, cuts of wood placed together to form patterns, like an intricate quilt. It was also polished but he could make out marks were shoes had been, scuffing and sliding, memories of a dance. A room in the house finally showed a little of its character and Alois took it all in and relished it.

"What is this?"

"A parquet floor."

"Parquet?" He sounded out the word, foreign and elegant.

"Each tile is a block of wood."

"But how does it stay together?" He was amazed that the blocks didn't wobble from his weight.

"Hot bitumen is poured between the blocks to ensure they stick together."

Alois didn't have to ask what bitumen was. All the village boys would go down to the pit and stare into the black pond that smelled as strong as dead slugs. 'That's the stuff, eh?' they'd say. His father would use it when he made repairs on their modest house, his tools turning black. And he and Luca would always get into when there father was finished, sticking out their tongues and saying how much it stunk.

"That black stuff."

"Yes." Alois scrunched his nose. How could such beautiful floors have black, hideous secrets in between their tiles? Would they decide to dismantle themselves and let the pitch underneath gulp him down?

Alois didn't want to think about it.

"You like dancing?" He asked.

"It's something I picked up easily."

"I've never danced before." Alois said as he crossed the tiles, tip toeing to avoid were the wood split to another color, evading the cracks.

He looked back at Claude. From his side of the tiles he looked like any other man. A sharp but normal looking man. There was nothing from the previous night and yet there was everything, because Claude lacked what even the most rigid men, in their most private moments, betrayed hints of: emotion.

"Will you show me?" Alois asked from his side of the floor. "How to dance, I mean. Will you show me?"

Claude inclined his head, walked toward him and held out a hand, a meticulously perfect hand, and he took it.

Alois picked up fast, his feet sliding across the floor. He was good at matching another's rhythm and dancing was no different, a pure flow of passion from one body to the other. Claude led him through the motions until each step was a recognizable pattern, like the floor they danced on. Alois followed, his coat and ribbon swishing, a current of air swimming at each turn.

"You're good at this, aren't you?" Claude increased his speed and Alois caught up. He admired the way Claude had complete control over his body, his masterful movements, in both forms of the word, turned the inconsistencies into fluid congruence.

And Alois wanted to melt again, but not from fear but something that ran parallel with fear: attraction.

"I learn quickly," he said and he meant all the shameful things he did but it came out proudly. Perfectly.

"I see."

Claude's hands were soft, his grip strong but not painful. Alois wanted to lead those hands to his mouth and kiss them as some men often did to his. His body had been worshipped in so many ways and it felt strange that he wanted to do the same to another's.

"I want to tell you my real name. It's Alois."

"Alois?"

"Do you like it?"

"Mmm." Claude nodded. "It's a nice name."

"Say it. Please."

"Alois."

"More."

"Alois."

He laughed. He liked how that voice said his name, deep and rich and gently. Alois stopped and held Claude in an embrace, his head resting on his chest. He was only aware, when they were standing together, that music had been playing the entire time.

* * *

Claude started with his feet. A kiss for each toe and one for the sole. Alois had long since lost that ticklish feeling he had in his feet, but he giggled at it all the same.

Claude had led him to the room, to bed, in the same way he had danced, a powerful hand that locked with his. This time Claude undressed him, starting with the ribbon. And then, just as slowly, Claude undressed himself in front of him.

"Does this please you?" Claude asked, his body still glistened from their dance.

Alois didn't say anything, just laid back on the bed and waited.

And then he had felt that mouth on his feet. He wondered what Claude tasted. Rosewood and rosewater. And up to his thighs, what it the sweat from their dance and those perfumed clothes? And on his chest that pungent and lovely boy taste. And then Claude caught him on the mouth and he tasted himself. It was what he had imagined: a taste sweet and sour and as overbearing as it was fleeting. A new and well used taste. A taste that was all his own and it was in Claude's mouth.

"Take me." He whispered into that mouth, in the hopes it would stick to the back of that throat and be swallowed down. Claude smiled, that same smile that had tortured him now one of comfort. His movements were slow, molasses dripping off a spoon, and Alois was painfully patient.

It wasn't his first time but he wanted to think, each touch a searing ripple of delight, was what it might have felt like if he hadn't ended up on Mr. Trancy's doorstep. It might have been out in a field in the country with a blue, blue sky overhead. And he might have taken his time, because all he would have had were those few moments to learn of another's body what he wanted to show of his. And maybe then it might have been special and he wouldn't have had to be alone in the end.

"Claude," he whispered. "Will you say my name again?"

"Alois." Each breathy syllable echoed in his ears. And when they were united Alois felt Claude run a hand down his arm until it reached his own. Fingers tickled his palm and then moved farther, to the spaces in-between his own fingers. His hand closed over his and Alois felt his heart lodge in his throat. Their hands pressed together, bodies joined, Alois lost himself. He was everything and he was nothing. Every exhale was the other's inhale. He felt like he was running, his heart on a swing. He ran past Mr. Trancy's and the dirty London streets to the outskirts and beyond. Everything he knew faded into the distance and he was somewhere new, hand in hand with this person.

"Claude." He whispered. "I love you." And then there was only bliss and Alois would have been fine if the rest of the world had cracked and been consumed by its own darkness.

And when it was over and he was kissing Claude's chest and throat and jaw the whisper found its echo.

_I love you. _

The words that had never meant anything to him, in all the entangled sheets and creaking beds, suddenly meant much more than all the world. And because they meant so much he could not think of ever finding a substitute. It occurred to Alois that he had never wanted a man like he wanted Claude. His body craved heat, but the thought of any other trying to fulfill that need made him disinterested.

"Mr. Trancy will be angry with me," his words crawled on Claude's bare chest. His leg was curled on one of Claude's and head on his shoulder.

"Mr. Trancy?"

Alois laughed a little. "I can't do it with anyone else now. Or at least, it won't be the same as it used to. I don't want them." He spoke earnestly, contented and with a hint of contempt. "I know what I want now. I want you."

Claude inhaled. "You can't have that."

"Why not?" He thought back to the fairy and if perhaps it was just a fairy tale after all. But Claude laid a hand on his head and Alois lost himself in the comforting gesture, and that was better than any answer he was expecting. "Then for right now all I want is this." He closed his eyes and this time sleep took him easily. The feeling that had been lurking in him for a long time was washed over with something pure, something hopeful and lovely, like staring into a clear, blue sky or amber eyes.

* * *

A/N: This was meant to be the sweet chapter to balance out the previous one. I guess I should also mention that the title for this fic comes from a song called _Jane Says_ by Jane's Addiction. The song doesn't really match the mood of this fic though. The next chapter will be the last one I'm pretty sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: There is nothing too graphic in this chapter (as compared to the other chapters) but there is a bit of violence. It's also darker than the previous chapters. Perhaps, if you like happy endings, you won't want to read this. But, if you wanted an ending, any ending at all, then read away.

A/N: I realized a while ago that I couldn't write this chapter the same way I had written the other two, and that was the reason why I wasn't sure about it for a while, but because of all of your support, it finally came together. I also realize that if I don't post this now it'll probably never be posted. So here goes...

* * *

Something had changed. Alois didn't know what it was, or how it happened but he didn't feel like himself anymore. There was something limitless about the world, about Claude's bed and Claude's arms and Claudes eyes as he scanned the morning paper. And Alois himself felt like he could cross all those limits, tear them down like cheap wall paper and paint the wall underneath.

He couldn't remember the last time he slept in one bed for the whole night, but the feeling of waking up next to Claude felt just like that- limitless.

"Good morning," Alois whispered and he wanted to say it again, because he believed in the words.

Claude glanced down at him before returning to his paper.

"Do you often sleep with prostitutes for the whole night?" He asked.

Claude glanced down at him again. "No. You're the first." And though Claude did not make it sound particularly noteworthy, Alois liked the thought of it.

He had come to realize Claude lived between extremes, on a wall between cruelty and cordiality, all the while wearing a face of stone. A black pool of bitumen with a bottom that couldn't be seen. Alois wanted to break that wall and dive into the pool below.

There was a knock on the door and the maid let herself in. Instinctively, Alois wrapped his arms around Claude's chest. He wanted her to see.

"Your schedule." She handed him a piece of paper, bowed and left. Claude observed it before balling his fist, the paper crushing in his palm, and throwing it away. Something about the motion frightened Alois, the way Claude's eyes scowled slightly and his lips formed into an almost grimace.

He would have asked, but Alois didn't care about maids or pieces of paper. He was already pressing his lips to the nape of Claude's neck.

"I'm not paying you for this morning." Claude placed the morning paper down.

"I know."

And the morning paper was long forgotten on the bedside table.

* * *

When Alois woke again Claude had gone, so he stayed for a time, sucking up the afterglow of happiness that still existed on the sheets.

But there was another feeling, something pushing him out of bed. Something that told him to leave, that his job was over and there was no longer a reason to stay. In fact, it told him, he had already overstayed his welcome.

Out of instinct, he searched the floor for his clothes, though he could no longer remember just where he had left them. Instead of finding his clothes, however, he came across the paper that Claude had tossed aside. Alois forgot about everything else and the crumpled up piece of trash became the object of his fascination. He opened it and turned it around and around but nothing was written on it at all. Had he been mistaken? But this was the only piece of paper in the otherwise immaculate room. Bored with it, he tossed it aside and looked around again for his clothes.

There was another knock and he rose instantly as the maid entered.

"My clothes, where are they?" He asked her. Without answering she walked across the room, gathering the clothes that he had shed the previous night, from the well-made coat to the ribbon. He watched her, every movement the continuous flow of a trained housemaid.

"Keep them." She gave him the bundle after she had finished folding them.

"But these are-" But she smiled at him and his words dropped off to oblivion. He held the bundle close to his chest, because he had never owned anything like it before.

After she left he dressed himself slowly.

Clothes that suited him, neither for a job or because he was too poor to afford anything else.

Smoothing out each wrinkle.

Perfectly tailored clothes.

Mindful of the way he tied the ribbon.

But most importantly, clothes from Claude.

* * *

He saw the carriage drive up from the window and Alois knew his time there was coming to a close. He wanted so much to hold on to the precious seconds but there was no way out of it. This was the fate of a worker of the night.

As he came to the bottom he saw him.

"Goodbye Claude. Thank you for the clothes."

Claude stared at him blankly and Alois guessed that was his usual expression.

"Won't you say goodbye to me?"

But Claude continued to stare and Alois felt slightly irritated. "Fine, don't say it. I'll get it out of you eventually." He smiled as the servants led him to the carriage.

* * *

Alois knew very well what awaited him after the carriage ride. He stepped out and was met with a dated building somewhere on the wrong side of town and for once Alois did not associate it with returning home. The tarnished door he walked through did not give him comfort, nor did the rug that he had counted the stains on many times before. But he could not fully attribute his feelings to detachment, to the perverse wonder he had had for it before. It seemed even the cushions that he used to lounge on were hollow, their stuffing replaced with dried up memories that he didn't care to relive.

He made his way up the stairs and lost himself in the corridor. There was a new kind of emptiness now. He walked through it, aware of its presence like floating particles of dust. He felt nothing for this worn out place or the worn out people who inhabited it. In one of the upstairs bedrooms he still smelled the smoke from the fireplace, a memory of fire, burnt down to the coals. It permeated everything about the building. If he let it, it would erase all traces of the night he spent away from it.

And that was something Alois did not want to happen.

* * *

Alois woke to voices in the hallway. He could not remember even falling asleep but his waking world soon became infested with voices from outside.

"Have you seen the new boy yet?"

"He's come?"

"That's what I heard, but I haven't caught a look at him. The old man keeps in his room."

A laugh.

"That's what I thought, but Mr. Trancy hasn't left his chair all day. It's like he's thinking about something."

Another laugh. "What to do with that boy."

"I thought so too, but you've seen the old man's eyes when he gets that way. It's not the same. It's something weirder."

"So what is it? Did that new boy get him that way or what?"

"I don't know what it is but all I know is that the new boy keeps asking for someone and the old man keeps him in his room because he won't shut up about it."

"Mr. Trancy probably doesn't want _us_ corrupting the flavor before he gets the first bite."

More laughter.

Alois stood and walked to the door and the boys stopped their conversation. They stared at him like he had interrupted something. And Alois didn't care because that was exactly what he had done.

* * *

"How was Lord Faustus?" It was the old man sitting in his favorite chair and Alois sitting on the floor beside him. The same scene, the same composition, like a skilled painter who had gone mad, painting the same subject over and over again with only subtle differences.

Alois didn't answer. He couldn't find the words to describe Claude now.

"Not so quick this time, eh?" He chuckled slightly.

This time Alois looked at him and realized he was a very ugly old man, with bad teeth and even worse wrinkles. Alois had never once been afraid of him. Even at his most cruel Mr. Trancy was still just a tired, old man. And that was all he had ever been.

And maybe that was the reason Alois said the words, "I'm not working here anymore, old man."

At this the chuckles escalated into roars of laughter. "My best boy? You can't be serious. Where will you go? Don't you remember why you're here in the first place? Your brother-"

"It doesn't matter. Luca is dead," he said in monotone.

The roars got louder. "So you-"

Alois stood up and gripped the man's collar before he could say another word. "I'm leaving," he said slowly. "You can't make me stay here."

The laughter ceased. He was aware that all eyes in the room were on him. Boys whispering amongst themselves. Secret words and secret shapes and secrets that everyone knew except for him.

The old man's hand clamped down on one of his wrists. It wasn't a hard grip but it fit around his whole wrist like a shackle. It could have thrown him against the fireplace and cracked his skull if it wanted to.

"And what makes you think I'd let my best boy run away so easily? I have a lot of connections in this town. You'd be at the bottom of the river if I wanted it." Alois didn't give him even a hint of fear.

"I heard them talking. You're getting someone new. You don't need me anymore," he said. "There's too much of us as it is."

And again there was that same knowing smile. The smile that alienated him from Claude and freedom.

"And what is this about exactly?" The old man pulled him closer. His gaze locked on with Alois's and a battle took place in those intense stares until Alois had to look away. The grin grew wider.

"Could you be in love with that man, I wonder?" The old man's lips swelled into a grotesque form, the haughty, uneven curve of an orchid petal.

At that the room erupted in laughter. In love with a client? How much like a bad play told to them as whispers round the fire.

"Very well," Mr. Trancy said. The humor had drained from his face, as quickly as it had come. He was all business once again. "Faustus has something I've been wanting for a long time. It's a gold ring with a red gem in the center. Bring that to me and you're free to go."

"That's all?"

Mr. Trancy's eyes gleamed. "And be careful with it. It's cursed, possessed by the spirits who've worn it before."

Alois laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And the money I've earned? Where is that?"

"Spent. But well spent. Think of it as our little trade." The glimmer in his eyes was not from the fireplace.

"And-"

"Stupid boy! Get the damned ring before I change my mind!"

But before he left Mr. Trancy called to him again.

"And hurry back, I have someone I want you to meet."

* * *

He ran down the streets, excitement welling in his blood. The dusk was setting on and everything was draped in mundane colors. The wan faces of women matched the store fronts, everything hiding its true colors before the street lights were lit.

He had mapped out the way in his mind. Though it was Mr. Trancy who had truly told him the directions, the landmarks to look out for, it felt natural to him. Like he was running for home after days, weeks, years of pretending to be who he wasn't. Now he had caught a glimpse of his true self.

Of the person he had always wanted to be.

* * *

The house was dark when he entered it. The front had been locked so he used the servants' entrance. He struggled around for some time, keeping close to the walls and guiding himself with what little light filtered in from windows. At last he came to the main rooms and guessed that Claude and the entire house were out for that night. The thought of Claude off somewhere bothered Alois, but he buried the feelings and instead thought about his current task.

Would Mr. Trancy really let him go if he brought him that ring? Was it some kind of trick? And why did Claude have it? He didn't want to wonder about how it was all connected. If Mr. Trancy knew Claude then... what then? Had their meeting been initiated by Mr. Trancy instead?

After searching the lower levels for some time he became bored. He looked at the stairs. The upper level was completely dark but he heard a sound. He hadn't noticed before, but by listening closely he heard muted talking in a guttural tone. There was no expression in that voice and he recognized it instantly.

Claude was up there.

Alois climbed the stairs. He expected it to creak but it didn't make a sound. The higher he climbed the more he was aware how dark it had become.

Darkness.

Alois was sure it was Claude. Surely, once he got up there, there would be some lights on.

He touched the wall to guide him. Soon the stairs disappeared and he was stepping on the second floor. A soundless floor. He tried to remember the hallway from the other nights.

But the darkness was too much. It scared him, invaded all his pores and poured darkness into him. That feeling that had whirled and whirled around him whenever he gave himself up to another man, when no one would play with him in the village. That _feeling_. This was it. Aching and hopeless, something so immense and lonely that it didn't need a name to exist. A purely metaphysical feeling.

But there was an image in his mind. Of Claude and him. That night when Claude had reached out to him and held his hand. Something as simple as that had made him forget about the feeling. It had happened in this place, on this very plane. He held on to that image, the warmth it gave him, and fought through the dark.

Surely he had changed. He was not Jim whose parents had given him up or Alois whose name was known by all the corrupt men who visited Mr. Trancy's den.

He wanted to be Claude's.

His hand moved along the wall and touched a shelf of some kind. It wrapped around something. He picked it up. It was light enough, small, flat, metallic and cold. He decided to hold on to it, dropping it into his coat pocket. To reminded himself that it wasn't pure darkness.

That Claude was in this darkness somewhere.

But what would he do when he finally reached him? What had he been planning when he climbed the steps into this darkness? His mind had never felt so drowned, so filled with questions. He wanted to know how Claude felt about him. What Mr. Trancy was planning. How to get through this darkness. There were so many questions that he had never thought to ask. What could he have become if he had never left his home? Would he be happy? Was he happy now? Too many questions. Ones he didn't even want to know the answers of. Were the questions themselves spilling out and over into the darkness?

It felt like it. Everything felt uneasy, unstable. His skin pricked and his breath became heavy. He could feel nothing but the wall and cold object in his hand. What was it anyway? He felt it, moving his finger along the length of it. Sharp corners, an indentation along the middle and a sharp, sharp edge.

A knife?

Certainly the coachman and the maid hadn't left it there... Claude then.

And so everything came back to Claude in the end. He felt empty without him and empty with him. And frustrated and happy and hopeless, so hopeless. And all the feelings came welling up and he couldn't push back down. Something hot touched his cheek and it took a few more steps to realize he was crying.

He walked on crying. It felt like ages, with just his hand against the wall. And everywhere a great silence.

Was he sad? It felt like sadness. But why? What purpose would that serve? Did one even need reasons to be sad? He hated thinking like this and longed for the mind he had had before. Nothing had affected him back then. Nothing ever meant anything to him before. Not sex. Not love. Not even pride. He had given that all up because it was easier to live that way, when everything was meaningless and nothing hurt.

And Alois guessed the reason he was sad, because he had almost let himself forget what it felt like to be happy.

At last he saw some light at the end and he ran towards it.

And then he saw him.

Claude. And her. He was kissing _her_.

Alois's hands shook. In an instant he knew all the answers to the questions he didn't want to ask. He saw with vivid clarity the way through the darkness, the way to Claude's heart.

* * *

His mind was devoted in searching for the ring. If he thought about that he didn't have to think about... His hands worked furiously, ripping linen from drawers, knocking down chairs and tables.

At last, in a room in a far corner of the house, a room as expressionless as all the rest, he found it, sitting out in the open in a case.

It didn't strike Alois as something particularly valuable. He'd seen bigger stones on the fingers of whores and somewhere in his dark thoughts he knew how fitting it was when he slipped it over his own and looked at the stone. He felt he had seen the red somewhere before, a vision overtook him fleetingly until a shadow passed over him and the gem lost its shine.

"Mr. Trancy sent you for it, didn't he?" He asked, the same familiar, emotionless, unfeeling voice.

"Do you know him?" Alois asked without turning around. He could feel the other's presence looming over him.

"Not personally," Claude's hand reached down and touched his own. "This ring has been given to all the inheritors of this fortune. It even belonged to Mr. Trancy's son once. I suppose that's why I received sent _you._"

The words did not feel cruel. Instead Claude talked as if it were a business transaction and Alois realized that was what it had been.

"Still, even if he does get it he still loses. He lost the real fortune."

"What do you mean by-?" But Claude's touch had left him. Alois turned around to look at him. His stomach twisted. The man looked no different than he did before.

"You can't work like that for anyone else, can you?"

Alois felt his hand moved to his chest. It felt hallow and heavy at the same time.

"Aren't you useless now..."

And hard too. He felt inside his coat pocket and gripped his hand around the object he had found in the dark.

"...because I ruined you."

He ran.

Memories flooded from every direction. Every man that had taken advantage of him became one man. The laughter from the den came back to him. Every smile magnified, the voices a chorus in the dark, silent room.

Again Alois was in the absolute darkness. He could not see though his hand kept moving and his ears rang with a chorus that cancelled evereything else out. He thought he was laughing but he couldn't be sure. He thought he was crying but his mind was devoid of anything but the color of that red, red ring.

And the worst feeling of all was that he still loved Claude.

Finally Alois stopped moving. The void in his memory returned and his hand let go of the knife that he had driven into Claude's chest. Blood seeped into the black that was his suit. Red on black. Indistinguishable.

"...Claude?"

The man slumped downwards and Alois tried to catch him, but a hand caught Alois's hand instead and held it to the knife.

"What are you-?" Alois cried.

"Go ahead," Claude said horsely. He drove the blade deeper.

"Claude!" He screamed. "No. I don't want to-"

There was a dark chuckle and Claude looked at him, the same look that burned him down to his soul and ripped him in two.

"Claude," he whispered this time, a desperate, broken whisper. Claude led his hand deeper. He twisted it.

"Don't worry," he said, "She'll come for me."

"Please Claude!" At last Alois was able to get his hand free.

"She knows what I want."

"What are you saying?"

"Goodbye Alois," he said as he slumped to the floor.

* * *

Alois had to run. He clamored in the hallway and tripped on the second step of the stairs. Without a moment's hesitation he was back on his feet, running down the stairs and into the anteroom where he finally stopped.

Forget Claude! He didn't matter. He had loved the maid! That look in her eyes, of course, it all made sense now.

Alois sat on the floor. His knee hurt from the fall.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself. He had everything he needed. He would bring the ring to Mr. Trancy and then he could get all his money and leave that place. Claude didn't matter.

He was only another client.

But then Alois stopped himself. Claude always mattered. The reason why he wanted to be free, why he even cared about being free, was Claude.

Alois stood up and walked slowly.

He didn't want to be free anymore. He didn't want to be anything anymore. It was all meaningless if Claude wasn't there.

* * *

"The ring?" Mr. Trancy asked.

"I don't have it," his tone was cropped and controlled.

"You don't have it?"

"No."

"You stupid boy!" Alois had expected the hand to strike him. He had turned away so it caught on the side of his head. His ears rang.

Alois turned and stared back at him. His gaze was dead, his soul was broken and the old man seemed to respond to that.

"Didn't you want to be free?" " Mr. Trancy smiled, that sickly cruel-sweet smile. "It's a shame, I even had a goodbye gift for you."

"A gift?"

"From all the money you earned."

"You spent it."

"I did it for your brother." Alois's eyes narrowed. Would the old man lie to the end?

Mr. Trancy turned and called for someone in the other room, "You. Get over here."

And then Alois realized Mr. Trancy hadn't lied at all.

He was older now, his face not as round as he remembered.

"Jim?"

Alois shook.

"Is it really you?" The boy ran up to him. "I've missed you so much."

His arms remained at his side even as the boy hugged him.

"I thought I'd never see you again. I was sick for a long time after you left, but mother and father said you were sending me money for medicine. Mother and father... they... Oh, Jim I've been so lonely. Mr. Trancy was so nice to send me money to come here. He even says he has a job for me. Oh Jim, is London really as wonderful as they say it is? I want you to show me all the places you've been and all the things you've seen. Tell me everything. What have you been doing all these years in London? I want to know. I want to live the life you've lived."

It was a cruel trick, it was a bad joke, it was...

"...a lie," Alois whispered.

"What?" The boy let go of him and took a step back.

"It's a lie."

"What are you talking about?"

Alois didn't listen to him, he stared at Mr. Trancy. "Tell me you're lying. This is all a lie. Tell me it's a lie."

"Jim?"

"You're all lying."

When the boy tried to approach him again Alois pushed him down but the expression of the fallen boy was not one of hurt but concern.

"Jim, is everything alright? What's the matter?"

"Get away from me!" Alois yelled. He made to run but a hand caught him on the wrist. He looked and it was that boy staring at him, the same innocent eyes that his brother had all those years ago.

"Please don't go. I haven't seen you in so long. Please don't leave me again," tears streamed down the boy's face and Alois wondered when the last time was that he had seen someone cry like that. Not because of a physical pain but as if his heart would shatter simply because he loved someone.

And although Alois stared into the face of a dead boy he felt like the one who had died.

He shook off the hand. "I'm ruined old man. I'm leaving."

"You're not going to stay with your-"

"Luca is dead!"

Mr. Trancy looked at him in disbelief. The boy looked at him in tears.

"I killed him. I left him there to die," Alois said, and he wasn't sure if he was talking about Luca or Claude and it didn't make any difference as he stormed out of the room and into the cold streets outside.

* * *

He just had to see Claude. Surely he was alright. Surely that hadn't killed him.

But as the streets led on and on his pace faltered. There was no point in going back there.

There was no point in going back anywhere. He walked slowly with no direction. And that was when he realized what exactly had changed about him: he had always been lonely but he never felt so lonely before.

It was quiet now. The ringing in his ears had stopped. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care where he was going.

Somewhere between exhaustion and desperation he caught a glimpse of her. She stood at the end of the bridge, as if waiting for someone.

"You gave me these clothes didn't you?" He asked her, the slightest twinge in his voice. He hadn't realized it, but now he felt sad. Just sad.

"Yes. It was me."

"And you were the one who arranged for me to meet with Claude, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He asked.

"It was what he wished."

"But did he wish for me?"

"He wished to feel something in his heart."

"Then... was it me?"

"You stabbed him there."

Alois wanted to scream and cry and laugh but nothing happened. He simply asked, "Where is he?"

"In here." She pointed to her stomach. At one time Alois would have walked away from such nonsense, he would have laughed and laughed as he hurried back to...

There was no place to return to.

Alois stayed silent for a long time. The chill reached his bones and yet he couldn't move.

"Do you think I'll be able to see him again?" He asked, his fragile voice carrying on the night wind.

"Not in the same sense as you were able to before." She turned to walk away.

"Wait!" He called to her.

She turned around and looked at him with those sad, demure eyes that hid everything from him and in doing so, told him more than he wanted to know.

"I want to go with you," he said the words without thinking and yet they felt so naturally right. He didn't know where she was going. He didn't know why he wanted to go with her. He just knew he wanted to be somewhere that wasn't here.

She smiled at that. "You may come but I require some sort of payment in return."

"What about this ring?" It had seemed too important to give to Mr. Trancy but now, now nothing was important anymore.

She simply shook her head, "The payment I require is far more valuable, but I will only accept it in exchange for something you truly want."

Alois tried to think. What did he want?

He knew what he didn't want. He didn't want to be Mr. Trancy's boy anymore, or anyone's boy. He didn't want to be the one who everyone wanted.

He wanted to see Luca, that dead boy who wasn't dead, but he knew he couldn't. He wanted to smile and laugh with him like he had in childhood, but he couldn't stop picturing the crying face from Mr. Trancy's. He didn't want to think about what would happen to that face. It only brought pain.

What he really wanted was Claude, that one person who had seen all of him: his anger, his joy, his feelings that were too strange to describe. Who had taken all of him and held him for one millionth of a second until he forgot he was.

His hand still tingled from Claude's touch.

_Alois. _He heard the echo of Claude's voice.

He closed his eyes and thought. This too was darkness. But a warm one. One he could feel all over.

He knew what he wanted.

"...I just want to be with Claude again," he said as he opened his eyes again.

Perhaps it was just a trick of his eyes, after all the darkness, but as the sun rose he saw her eyes flash a shade of red.

"If that is what you wish."

* * *

Alois woke up to the feel of sun on his face. For a second he thought he was back in the country, fallen asleep in a field somewhere. Soon his brother would come for him and they'd play together until the sun went down.

But that couldn't be, could it?

Alois opened his eyes.

He was on Hannah's lap, at least that was what she called herself.

"I had that dream again," he said.

She smiled, a warm smile that made him think of all things he had lost.

He tried to remember how he got there. He had left Mr. Trancy's house in a hurry because he was upset about something. Had it been a client? Everything blurred in his head and it became hard to think.

"Hannah?"

"Yes?"

"Why am I here again?"

"Because I wanted to see you."

That seemed like a good enough reason.

"Where are we?"

"In London."

That was right. He had come to London some time ago and started working for Mr. Trancy. He was so good at what he did so Mr. Trancy had started calling him Alois.

Again he felt like he had lost something, but he couldn't remember what it was.

He leaned his head against her stomach. It was warm here. Here he felt connected to everything he had ever lost and all he could ever hope to gain. He felt happy and sad at the same time.

"Hannah?"

"Yes?"

"I want to tell you my real name."

He whispered it. It seemed like another thing he was forgetting about.

"Do you like it?"

She smiled.

* * *

She smiled.

Her last two contracts had been too fast and she had hardly been able to savor the taste. She'd take her time with this one.

"It's a nice name," she said it for herself, "Luca."

* * *

_The End_

A/N: You can probably guess but this chapter took a long time to write. I kept coming up with new things and getting rid of old things. Actually, I came up with completely different scenes in some places, which is rare for me. Maybe one day I'll make an alternate version of this chapter with all those things I didn't use for this version, but knowing me that'll probably never happen.

Actually this is the end I had wanted from the beginning. A sense of despair but also of hope, where maybe they were all together in the end... but I'm saying too much. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry for the wait.


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